Devil's Advocate
by Talye Kendrin
Summary: "Not everyone deserves a happy ending." / Everyone knew Wesley as the efficient right hand of the Kingpin of Hell's Kitchen. What they didn't know was that he did, in fact, have a personal life. Wesley/OC
1. Chapter 1

It hadn't always been like this, Tatiana thought as she chopped vegetables half-heartedly. There was a time, years ago, when she had felt loved-when she felt special to him. Now, there was the odd time when she saw some vague remnant of that time long past in his eyes as he looked at her, but mostly what she saw when they made eye contact was pity.

Damn his pity.

At thirty-two, almost all of the women she'd gone to college with were married and had children, and most had found jobs they loved or were stay-at-home moms. And Tatiana...well. Tatiana didn't even have half of that going for her.

Tatiana had taken some business and financing classes in college, which was where she had met her partner. Gods, she couldn't even say husband! In a relationship and living together for over twelve years now, and still she had no engagement ring to show for it. The simple promise ring on her finger was so frustrating it took all she had not to throw it out the window and cry.

Back when she was nineteen, she had met her..._partner_...and they had felt as though they were kindred souls, with their intellect and their sarcasm and their appreciation for the finer things in life. However, her partner had always had so much more ambition, an almost overwhelming desire for perfection. And then there was his unswerving devotion to his long-time friend...

In the end, her partner had ended up with a more-than-six-figure job tethered to his best friend with more-than-full-time hours.

Tatiana, on the other hand, had a lousy nine to five job in payroll at one of the local advertising companies.

Whoopee.

Especially in the last couple of years, it had felt more like she was living alone than anything. Her partner was always out at all hours, when he came in he would make minimal conversation with her, mainly just falling into bed exhausted for what little sleep was possible before his phone went off with an urgent business call and he was off and running again. It was no life. No life for her, anyhow. Her partner was aggressively fixed on maintaining his exhausting lifestyle for the sake of his friend, and whenever the two of them were in the same room long enough for her to try and broach the subject, he would shut her down immediately. She knew the nature of his business. She knew why it mattered so much to him. She didn't know any specifics, but it was easy enough to guess. But if anyone were to sit her in an interrogation room, she wouldn't be able to tell them anything for sure, because there was no communication between them.

It was like she was living with a ghost.

Tatiana felt a wetness on the back of her hand, and she touched it to her face, realizing with a shock that she was crying. She glared at the half-chopped cabbage on the cutting board. She wasn't even cutting onion she could blame her tears on.

The quiet sound of tires against the gravel driveway outside snapped her out of her angry haze and she hastily swiped the tears away, depositing the cabbage in a bowl with the rest of the chopped vegetables and adding the coleslaw dressing, placing the finished product on the table before pulling out the chicken breasts and roasted potatoes she'd left in the oven to keep warm, placing the dishes on potholders next to the coleslaw. It was a rare occasion for her partner to be home in time for supper. She glanced at the clock-6:29 pm. He knew she always ate supper at precisely 6:30 pm. Whenever his job allowed, he was punctual to a fault. She half-smiled at that. Some things just never change, she thought, despite the tears that still moistened her eyes, threatening to fall. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing them away. She might loathe how little time she got to see her partner, but she'd be damned if she spoiled the time that they did spend together with tears and sadness. She loved him, damnit, and no matter how fed up she was with her life she'd never be able to change that.

The electronic lock turned, and she could hear the porch door swing open in the next room over. There was the slight, familiar shuffling of her partner removing his coat and shoes and stowing them in the closet before he appeared, looking tired, in the kitchen entryway.

He gave that charming half-smile she'd fallen for all those years ago. "Evening, Tia," he said, using the nickname only he ever used for her.

She tried to smile back. It felt forced. Even though she was happy to get to see him that rare occasion, she could not just forget the unhappiness that lingered in her gut like a festering wound.

"Hi, Wes."

Wesley's brow creased, and he stepped towards her, reaching out a hand and placing it on her arm-a comforting gesture, but she couldn't help but turn her head away, avoiding eye contact. If she met his eyes, she knew the dam would break and the tears would be unstoppable.

"Tia? What's wrong?" Wesley asked, moving his other hand to cup her cheek, gently turning her face towards him, but she resolutely stared at his feet rather than his face. "Why won't you look at me?"

She made the mistake of flicking her eyes up to meet his at that statement, and it only took a moment.

The tears were back, and the flood began.

"Wes, I-I, I-I can't do this anymore," she stammered through her tears, taking in great, hiccuping breaths of air. She knew she was an ugly crier. Wesley had never cared. He'd always just laughed and said that it was a trade-off because she rarely ever cried.

"What? Can't do what?" he said, cradling her face in both hands now. His brow was still furrowed, that slightly concerned look that he got sometimes, the closest thing that he ever got to showing fear.

Tatiana moved her hands to her hair, pulling at it in frustration. "Ugh-_this_, I can't do this! I never see you, we never talk, you almost never do anything but sleep when you're here because that man is running you ragged, Wes! Can't you see? I know he's your friend, but you have no life! I..." she trailed off, noting that he seemed to have withdrawn into himself slightly at her mention of his friend, despite that she had avoided saying his name, just as Wesley had always instructed her to. She moved her hands from her hair to grasp his hands on either side of her face, leaning into them slightly. "I...just want to be with you," she said quietly, ashamed of the way her voice broke towards the end of her sentence. "Is that too much to ask?"

Wesley stared at her, seeming to analyze her. This was the part that she hated. When he was thinking, she could never read his expression. Which, unfortunately, was most of the time. She could never tell what he was thinking. He liked to joke that it was why he was so good at poker. It wasn't really a good thing when it came to being in a relationship with him though. She always came up empty-handed in situations like this because of it.

Wesley surprised her, though, when he seemed to make up his mind and half-smiled again, leaning forward...and placing a chaste kiss on her forehead.

Well, it was more than she'd gotten in a good month now, anyway.

"I'll try."

Tatiana resisted the urge to clean her ears out.

Had she heard that right? Did he really just say that?

Tatiana threw her arms around Wesley's neck and kissed him hard on the mouth, earning a low chuckle from him. When she pulled back from him, however, he turned serious once again. Always so serious, her Wesley.

"You know I can't make any promises, Tia," he said quietly, his arms settling around her waist now. "I can only try."

Tatiana sighed, leaning her head against his shoulder and inhaling the scent of his cologne.

"I know, Wes. You're an important man," she said, closing her eyes as his arms tightened around her, finding comfort in his warm embrace. "I just want to know that you're still _my_ important man."

She could feel the shift of his chest as he inhaled, an almost possessive note in his voice as he breathed out,

"Always."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** WOW! I am absolutely blown away by the positive response to this story in the less-than-48 hours it's been up so far. Thank you to all of you that reviewed/added this story to favorites/followed. This one's for you!

Not much backstory in this one, but you do get to see Wesley in his college years. :)

* * *

"You're sure you're alright with doing this, Wesley?" Fisk asked, his brow furrowed as he tugged on the sleeve of his dress shirt, fiddling with the cufflink there. "You know I wouldn't ask you to do this if you weren't."

Wesley was grateful that he wasn't facing his friend as he rolled his eyes before refocusing on his business textbook. "Wil, if I wasn't willing to do it, I wouldn't have offered," Wesley said matter-of-factly, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

Fisk snorted. Wesley was loyal to a fault. He wouldn't put it past him to actually loathe the idea, but still pretend as though he was fine with it just because it was a favor asked of him by his best friend. That was why, though, Fisk knew that he could trust Wesley with his life. And he knew that he would never trust anyone else the same way.

A hint of a smile touched Fisk's lips, barely noticeable except if you were really looking for it.

"Thank you, Wesley," he said gruffly.

Wesley just grunted acknowledgment, going back to his text.

* * *

Wesley was so focused on looking busy that he almost missed his opportunity.

It had been a few days since he had agreed to Fisk's request, and he had been biding his time, assessing the situation, ensuring that he would have the best opportunity to put his plan into action. He was glad that he could afford to take his time with this operation. After all, one wrong move and the whole thing could crumble like a broken sand castle under foot.

This was the moment he had been planning for, though. He quickly scrambled to get his things together and hurried after the parting figure of the person he had been waiting to pass by him as he "studied" on a bench near his next class.

His eyes were fixed on the person he was tailing as they entered the classroom, moving towards the middle of the rows of seats before taking one for their self. He realized there was another person moving towards that same row, and he stepped up his pace a bit, trying to remain inconspicuous even though he was slightly panicked inside at the thought of missing a golden opportunity such as this to start his plan into action. He slid into the row just ahead of the other person, not caring that he all but cut them off. He paused, as though considering whether he should sit directly next to the stranger, before giving a slight shrug and placing his books down on the tabletop beside them, seating himself as gracelessly as possible, even though he preferred to appear dignified. It wouldn't do to have them think him an uptight snob, after all. He'd been told by girls before that he could come off that way. Wesley had always figured that girls who thought that weren't worth his time anyway, though. Unfortunately, this one's opinion mattered quite a bit more than theirs. He suppressed a sigh and tried to look friendly without looking too interested as he turned his head towards the young woman next to him who was staring at him with a bemused look on her face, holding his hand out towards her.

"Hi. I'm Wesley," he said with a slight smirk. "James Wesley."

The curly blond-haired girl didn't bother to hide her smirk, unlike him. "Hm. Doesn't roll off the tongue quite the same as Bond," she said, a slight lilt to her voice betraying the fact that English was not her first language. If he hadn't known to look for it, though, Wesley would have been none the wiser. She was good, he had to admit. It didn't make the fact that she blatantly ignored his outstretched hand in favor for turning to the front to open her books sting any less. He grit his teeth together momentarily before retracting his hand.

Wesley resisted the urge to rub his temples, feeling a headache coming on. Gods, this was going to be so much worse than he'd predicted. He'd thought that her loner status would have made her an easy target, an easy person to get close to due to the fact that there would be no nosy best friend thinking he wasn't good enough to talk to her or anything of the sort. You're doing this for Wil, he reminded himself. This is for Wil, not you. Failure is not an option.

Wesley calmly opened his textbook to the chapter they were to be covering today, opening up his notebook to a blank page and writing the date in the upper right corner, not even looking at the girl next to him as he spoke again.

"So do you have a name, or should I just make one up for you?" he asked dryly. "I'll warn you now though, I'm not particularly creative when it comes to such things."

She gave a short laugh. Well, it was a start, he thought.

"You can call me Ana."

No full name? Well, that wouldn't do. It wasn't like he didn't know her full name, but he needed her to like him enough to offer it, and if he couldn't do that, well... He didn't even want to think of the end result. He frowned, reminding himself again that failure was not an option.

"Just Ana?" he said.

"For you it is," she shot back.

"Hm," he smirked. "And I suppose your student ID just says Ana as well? I don't know if that's even legal. Maybe if you put Ana as both your first and last name, but that would get a little confusing..."

"Are you quite done yet?" Ana hissed, sounding annoyed. He looked over at her.

Yup. Definitely annoyed.

Ana pinched the bridge of her nose as though trying to ward off a headache.

"Lord, you're persistent. Your mother ever tell you that?"

Wesley shrugged noncommittally. He wasn't about to go into talk about his family life in their first conversation. That was a complicated topic best saved for the future...way, way in the future.

Ana studied him, pursing her lips as she did. He raised an eyebrow at her in silent question. She shook her head incredulously, grumbling to herself under her breath too quietly for him to hear. He almost flinched back when she suddenly stuck her hand out towards him, expression one of distrust.

"Tatiana Durov," she said briskly.

Wesley grinned. _Success,_ he thought, grasping her hand firmly and shaking it.

"Polish?"

She paused, as though considering her answer. "Russian," she stated softly.

_Score two for Wesley._ He was suddenly very grateful for his unassuming, youthful face. And that he hadn't worn a full-out suit to class, despite the fact that wearing just a colored dress shirt and slacks made him feel like he might as well be wearing nothing at all. His suit was like his armor, and he'd gone into battle without it.

He schooled his expression as he murmured, "A lovely name for a lovely lady," drawing her hand towards him to place a chaste kiss on the back of her hand. It had the desired effect-her face became as red as the notebook in front of her, and she quickly tugged her hand back, wringing her hands in her lap as she focused on the front of the classroom, where the professor was just walking through the door. She fumbled with her notebook before flipping it open, scrambling for a pen to write with and placing the tip hovered over the paper, resolutely ignoring Wesley. He smirked, observing her, his chin propped up on his fist and his elbow on the table in front of him. Tatiana mumbled something he couldn't hear, and he couldn't help but tease her.

"Sorry, what was that?" he asked innocently.

She flicked her gaze over to him, blushed even harder, and refocused on her notebook.

"I said...the professor's here, I need to focus on my notes. I'm barely passing this class as it is."

Another in? Wesley snatched it up with ease.

"Well...I could always let you look at my notes sometime," he said easily. "I have an A in this class, after all." And in every other class he was taking. Probably shouldn't rub it in, though.

That caught her attention. She turned to him, wide-eyed.

"I would love you forever and a day."

It was Wesley's turn to give a bark of laughter.

"Don't make promises you can't keep," he said, but tore out a piece of paper from his notebook anyway, scribbling down his phone number and sliding it towards her, purposely brushing his fingers against her as he removed his hand. He delighted in the way the blush crept back into her cheeks. It was just so _easy_.

"I'll expect to hear from you soon," he said, just as the professor began his lecture.

He didn't miss the way she snuck glances at him throughout the rest of the class.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Just so you know, this story has not been abandoned, I was just busy with graduation stuff and finding a job. Now that I'm settled into my new job, this will be on monthly scheduled updates. Thanks for your patience.

Enjoy!

* * *

Tatiana sat at the kitchen table of her tiny bachelor suite apartment, staring at the two items in front of her. On the left was the scrap of paper with Wesley's number written on it in neatly printed letters, and on the right, her cell phone. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, hesitating. It had been two days since her handsome, arrogant classmate had slipped her his number, and she was still weighing the pros and cons in her head over whether or not she should call him. That was Tuesday, and now it was Thursday. She felt like it was now or never, though, seeing as she was pretty sure she had another class with him Friday morning.

_Well, if I agree to go out with him, I might get a free meal out of it..._

But you don't _know _him. What if he has ulterior motives?

_Well I won't know until I spend more time with him, now, will I?_

True, but _they_ won't be happy that you didn't okay it with them first...

_Ugh. I'm a grown-ass woman, I don't need my family staring over my shoulder my entire life. I can look after myself!_

Fine. Have it your way.

Tatiana took a deep breath, grateful for the sudden quiet of her mind as she made her decision, snatching up the phone in front of her and carefully punching in the numbers on the paper next to it. She held her breath as she heard the line ring twice before the person on the other end picked up with a puzzled-sounding hello.

"Hi...Wesley? It's Tatiana, from class the other day... Are you doing anything tonight?"

* * *

Tatiana drew her mint green shawl tighter around her shoulders as she got out of the taxi in front of the five-star restaurant. It had been a while since she had been to a place as fancy as this. She missed it, but it was nice to keep things low-key sometimes. It was the only way she'd kept her family from prying into her business, after all. Her strappy heels clicked noisily against the pavement leading up to the restaurant doors, and she tugged at the hem of her little black dress that she wished she hadn't worn because maybe it was a bit _too_ little for a first date... She was distracted from such thoughts, however, when she heard her name being called and looked up to see Wesley walking towards her. She blinked, surprised.

"Oh," she said. "I would've thought you'd have gotten a table by now. You didn't have to wait for me," she said, fully aware that she was ten minutes late. She had thought she'd had everything timed down to the minute, but she'd completely forgotten to account for the cab ride here. She'd been cursing herself for it the entire way there. At least she'd had the courtesy to send Wesley a text to let him know of the delay, but she still was mad at herself not for thinking of it at the time.

Wesley shrugged, holding out his arm to her, which she gratefully looped her hand through.

"I have a standing reservation here, so I'm fairly certain we're safe," he stated.

That made her eyebrows shoot up.

"Oh, so you take girls here often, do you?" she said drily.

His derisive snort gave her pause, and she looked over to catch the tail end of him rolling his eyes before looking over at her as they strode through the doors, which the wait staff graciously held open for them.

"I have no taste for _girls_," he said. "Girls are immature, they have no...class. No. What I'm interested in are women, which," he said, staring at her carefully done hair, makeup, and wardrobe, "I would say I was correct in guessing you are."

Tatiana scoffed. "Please. A woman can dress to the nines and still have no class."

Wesley gave her an amused look. "Do I have to wait and see whether or not you do, then?"

She returned his look with an unimpressed one. "That depends, do you trust me enough to take my word for it?" she challenged.

Wesley chuckled. "Fair enough," he said, following the maitre d' who smiled and motioned for them to follow him the moment he caught sight of Wesley, guiding them towards Wesley's reserved table near the more private back corner of the restaurant. He politely slid her chair out for her, which she laughed at before sliding into her seat, allowing him to push her chair in before seating himself. Wesley quickly ordered one of the best wines available, speaking in low tones to the waiter and slipping him a twenty to ensure quality of service. Money may not buy everything, but in his world, it talked even louder than his reputation. He cleared his throat, pulling the artfully folded napkin from his plate in order to fold it neatly in his lap.

"So, Tatiana," he said, the name rolling off his tongue easily. Maybe too easily. Hopefully she wouldn't become suspicious of that. It was, after all, in his best interest to speak some of her mother tongue. "Why don't you tell me more about yourself?" He leaned forward on his elbows, his posture portraying interest without seeming too invested in her answer.

She raised a brow. "I'm studying Business and Financing. Yourself?" she said.

Too eager to get the spotlight off of herself. He watched with interest as she squirmed. She was trying to hide it, but he could see it as plain as day. He raised a disbelieving eyebrow at her.

"Really?" he said, shaking his head. "Come now, you can do better than that...here, I'll start," he said, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands in his lap.

"Hi, my name is James Wesley, though most call me Wesley. My birthday is December third, I have two younger brothers and I have an appreciation for the finer things in life, like five-star meals and a _really_ good bottle of wine." He smirked, inclining his head towards her. "Your turn."

Tatiana pursed her lips, trying to gauge how much she should tell him.

"My name is Tatiana Durov...as you know, I'm from Russia." He nodded at this, motioning for her to continue. "I like classical music." That was an understatement. "My parents died some years ago, but I'm quite close to my cousins...their father adopted me when my parents died." Not the whole story, but he didn't need to know. There was no guarantee this little 'fling' would even last past this one date, depending of course on how he played his cards.

"I'm so sorry," Wesley said, the picture of concern as he reached across the table, lightly placing his hand on hers. She stared at it, unsure what to think. "How did they die?"

He seemed sincere. Didn't mean she would give in to it, though.

"Violently," she said, not going into detail. "I'd rather not talk about it, though. Not exactly...polite dinner conversation." She smiled tightly.

Wesley nodded, seeming to get the message as he took his hand back, changing the subject.

"Red or white?" he said, grabbing the wine list and perusing it.

The sudden change in topic left Tatiana at a momentary loss before she recovered.

"Oh, uh... I prefer red." She nearly kicked herself as she stammered over her words. She never stammered over her words. She was always the cool, collected one who held herself with poise and grace. Where she came from, she couldn't afford to show such imperfection. Imperfection was weakness, and could get you devoured whole. The small smirk she glimpsed on Wesley's face as he stared resolutely at the wine list showed that he noticed, as well. She mentally cursed his astuteness.

"So, are your cousins here in America too, or...?"

The question sounded so innocent to any passerby, but Tatiana bristled. She was not involved in her cousins' machinations, nor did she want to be, but there would always be those that tried to get to them through her.

"No."

Her blunt answer gave no detail, and left the door closed to any further questions. She made it quite clear that she did not want to discuss her cousins any further.

Wesley realized his error and maintained his poker face, mentally kicking himself. She was very guarded, indeed. This would take more time than he'd originally thought. He would have to be more careful with his questions from now on. He glanced up at her.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to pry. You just said you were close with them, so I figured..." he shrugged noncommitally. "Either way. I'm thinking the '98 Chateau Lafite Rothschild, what do you think?" he said, passing the wine list to her.

Her eyes widened when she saw the price, and she resisted the urge to let out a low whistle, knowing it would attract stares from the high-class crowd they were in.

"You really _do_ love a really good bottle of wine," she murmured, somewhat impressed in spite of herself.

Wesley just winked in response.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Welp, I'm a liar for saying this would be on monthly updates and then falling off the face of the earth for two months. Haha. I'm back now though! And as an apology, chapter 5 will also be up by Sunday.

No Tia in this chapter. It's a blast from the past-Fisk's and Wesley's past, to be precise!

Enjoy!

* * *

Wilson Fisk and James Wesley weren't all that close throughout most of elementary school. They lived in the same neighborhood, went to the same school, and were in the same class for most of the years they were there, but other than the occasional nod or 'hello' as they passed each other in the hallway, they didn't usually associate. Wesley had the kind of charisma that allowed him to ingratiate himself into just about any social group he wanted, while Wilson was an awkward child, timid as he was under the oppressive thumb of his abusive father.

Middle school marked the beginning of change.

Wesley placed his school bag down quietly next to the desk he'd been assigned next to the window, unlike the majority of his classmates who seemed to make it their goal in life to make as much noise as possible. Looking around, he spotted one of the only exceptions he knew of; a familiar face, seated beside him. With a curious look, he saw that the boy appeared to be trying to organize all the different writing utensils into different compartments in his pencil case. However, seeing as Wesley was seated right next to him, he could see that the boy had already organized everything and was just trying to look busy so others wouldn't approach him. Suppressing an uncivilized snort, Wesley propped his chin up on his fist and raised an eyebrow.

"I don't think they're going to get any neater than you've already got them, Fisk," the bespectacled boy said dryly.

Wilson's head shot up, a guilty look on his face as though he'd been caught doing something bad. His ears reddened in embarrassment before he quickly zipped the pencil case shut, stashing it away in his desk. He mumbled what sounded like an apology, causing Wesley's other eyebrow to shoot up to join the first.

"Don't apologize to me, Fisk. You don't owe me anything."

Wilson shot him a sideways glance, before giving him a small, tentative smile. He looked like he was about to apologize again, but stopped himself, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

Wesley gave him a vague smile.

"You know what? I'm starting to get annoyed with all these loudmouths," he said, glancing around the class full of twelve-year-olds that were all talking to each in volumes just shy of shouting. He looked back at Wilson, the quiet loner who had been marked as a 'loser' by the other children due to his painfully shy and awkward nature. Wesley didn't care about labels, though. He took people as they were, and damn what anyone else had to say about it. He was a people person, through-and-through. It was how he could tolerate, let alone befriend, so many people. Other children, especially preteens as they were now, tended to grate on his nerves a bit, however.

Wesley stuck out his hand to Wilson. "Let's be friends."

Wilson seemed surprised, but more than that, he seemed intimidated by Wesley's assertiveness.

"Uh...no offense, but..._why?_" he asked quietly. Poor kid had a bit of a girly voice yet, Wesley noted.

Wesley gave him a look that read, 'seriously?'

"Well, we've certainly known each other long enough to be friends, but other than that, we don't really know each other, and I think you'd be interesting to get to know," Wesley rambled off. "You're quiet, so I never know what you're thinking, unlike everyone else. We live in the same neighborhood, so it'll be convenient if we ever want to hang out. And...well...I don't know." Wesley shrugged, stretching his hand out a little further. "Just shake my damn hand, Fisk. Stop being so difficult and let's be goddamn friends."

Wilson hesitated, but gave him that tentative smile again. His cheeks, which were still chubby with baby fat, dimpled slightly at the movement.

"Okay," he said, grabbing Wesley's hand and giving it a firm shake.

Wesley grinned.

"About time, Fisk."

Little did he know, that action had sealed his fate.

-o-

It hadn't taken very long for Wesley to realize that there was something sinister going on in the Fisk household.

Wesley was a bright child, very observant and capable of making connections between things that the majority of people wouldn't be able to. It was part of what made him so socially adept. The only reason that he hadn't noticed during elementary school was because he had never looked at Wilson Fisk long enough to see the bruises that sometimes peeked out from beneath the edges of his shirt sleeves or collar. Wilson Fisk had that kind of aura about him; one that kept you from looking at him for too long. He was very good at blending in, and for the longest time, he'd wanted to. If he was completely ordinary, no one would take an interest in him. From what his father had shown him, when people took an interest in you, it was never a good thing. It was why he'd been so wary of Wesley's friendship at first. Wesley could be a very forceful person when he wanted to be, though, and he had ingratiated himself into Wilson's life to the point of no return. It was a miracle his father hadn't shown his only friend his darker side up to that point.

Wilson's father had dived into the bottle and never come up, ever since he lost the election. Wilson himself had begun to have troubles not just with his father's abusive behavior, but also with bullies. And despite that Wesley was always there for him, he was loathe to drag the boy into his problems. Sure, he knew that there was no way the other boy couldn't have noticed the extra bruises, the way his eyes always darted about, making note of possible escape routes, but he didn't want his friend to get hurt if he could help it.

Wesley, on the other hand, had noticed something that even Wilson hadn't about himself.

Wilson was about to reach his breaking point.

He could tell from the way that when certain topics came up in conversation, ones that could be linked back to his father, the boy's fists clenched so hard they shook and left half-moon markings in his palms when they finally relaxed.

So when one day, Wilson came to school and was acting strangely aloof, Wesley was, of course, concerned.

Wesley watched silently over his friend, who seemed to be attempting to sever ties with him without saying as much, for the next several days. On the sixth day of his friend's odd behavior, he decided to visit him at his home. He hesitated, but eventually decided to go over after supper. Usually at that time, Wilson's father would be out at the bar, so there would be notably less tension in the house as he and his mother wouldn't be walking on eggshells around the perpetually angry man. When Wesley arrived at the house, though, he hesitated again. Wilson had made it very clear that he didn't like Wesley visiting without prior notice, he'd figured due to his father's temper. Wesley was so deep in thought that he almost didn't notice when the garage door opened. Instinctively, Wesley hid behind the bushes by the Fisks' fence as the family car pulled out of the driveway.

Family car? Wait, so Mr. Fisk hadn't taken it to the bar? He squinted in the dark, barely making out the figures of Mrs. Fisk in the driver's seat, Wilson sitting in the passenger seat beside her. Where were they going? Wesley knew for a fact that they never went anywhere in the evening, ever, because Mr. Fisk never came home from the bar at the same time, sometimes getting kicked out early due to lack of funds, and if nobody was home when he got there, he would hunt them down and skin them.

The more he thought about that, the more he realized the angry man probably would actually do just that.

Shaking his head of the chilling thought, Wesley followed after the blazing red taillights as the car drove slowly down the gravel back lane, trying to stick to the shadows. He felt like he was doing something wrong, following the Fisks like this, but he couldn't help his curiosity over the current situation. As he jogged along, keeping far enough away that he could just barely keep the distant taillights within view, he wondered where Mr. Fisk was that they were feeling bold enough to defy him so openly.

Eventually, he arrived by the river. In the distance, he could see Mrs. Fisk and her son taking a large garbage bag out of their trunk, both of them carrying it between them to the end of the pier. They heaved it back and forth, gaining momentum until they threw it out as far as they could into the river. The whole scene just struck Wesley as being...wrong.

After all, when do normal people ever throw garbage bags into the river after dark?

Making up his mind, Wesley turned and ran back the way he'd come as fast as he could, hoping to make it back to the Fisks' house before they did.

There was something he needed to check.

-o-

Wesley pressed his sleeve to his face as he stared into the open garbage bag, horrified and gagging at the smell of decaying flesh.

An arm stared back at him, one with a familiar tattoo on the bicep.

Mr. Fisk's arm. Wilson's father's_ arm_.

Hastily, he retied the bag, fleeing up the stairs from the basement. Rather than head for the door, however, he headed straight for Wilson's bedroom, even as he heard the family car pull into the garage and shut off, the slamming of doors echoing from first the car and then the side door that joined the house to the garage. Wesley's hands were shaking, but he glared at them, clenching them into fists as he sat at his friend's desk.

When Wilson entered the room, flipping on the light, he startled at seeing Wesley sitting there. Nervous from the fact that they had just dumped part of his father's body in the river, worried that somehow the boy had seen them and was here to (rightly) accuse him of murder, Wilson unconsciously took a step back, pressing his back against the doorframe as he tugged at his fingers nervously.

"Wesley, what are you doing here?" Wilson asked, the nervousness seeping into his voice.

Wesley's face was unreadable as he stared at Wilson. He had always had a good poker face, even as a young child. It unnerved his parents sometimes, but it was very useful at times.

"I know about your dad," he said.

It was like he had struck Wilson in the gut.

Well, there went his only friend, he supposed. And now he was going to go to jail, on top of that...

"I'm not going to tell anyone."

Wilson stared at him, wide-eyed.

"But...why?" Wilson asked, immediately regretting the question. His mother always told him not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but here he was, questioning his friend's motives for keeping the one secret that would decide the course of the rest of his life-as a free man with the ability to change the world as they knew it, or as a caged man locked in a den of thieves and murderers. People just like him, his mind whispered, the guilt hitting him anew. Then he remembered the terrible man his father had been, and how he would have eventually killed his mother if he hadn't stopped him. Stopped his heart, that is.

Wesley's eyes were older than they should have been as he stared Wilson down.

"Because I know what kind of man your father was," he said, "and because I know what kind of man you could be."

Wilson almost didn't want to ask, but he found himself saying quietly, almost no louder than a whisper,

"And what kind of man might that be?"

Wesley gave him an appraising look.

"The kind of man that does what needs to be done, rather than what people may believe to be right."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Please note, there are CONTENT WARNINGS for this chapter: mentions of rape (nothing graphic) and murder (brief graphic content). If these bother you, skip past the first section of this chapter.

Ye have been warned. Muhahahah -cough cough- sorry. Carry on.

* * *

"Papa," six-year-old Tatiana cried, shaking the unconscious man's shoulder as violently as her tiny frame would allow. Her normally neat golden girls were tangled, the left side matted with blood from the blow she'd received to her head when the seemingly nice man that had come by to talk business with her papa had decided he'd rather play rough with her. The way he'd touched her made her feel sick, but at that point her papa wasn't moving, and mama was still out in the back garden, so she couldn't hear Tatiana's frightened screams. The blow had come when the man told her to 'shut the fuck up, you little brat', but she couldn't help how scared she was. After he'd hit her, she'd become dizzy and disoriented, and her breaths had come out in whimpers rather than screams.

At least he hadn't hit her again after that. It didn't make what had happened instead any less horrifying, though.

After the man had left, she had collapsed without his greasy hands to hold her up, and lay there crying for some time before she realized that her papa still hadn't moved. With no small amount of effort, she had dragged herself over to his still form, where she had begun to shake him.

"Papa, wake up," she said, sniffling. The red pool that spread out from beneath him was evidence of when the bad man had cut him in the stomach. There was something gray and squishy and partially covered in blood sticking out from underneath him. It gave her a bad feeling, and she didn't want to look at it. Being a six-year-old, of course, she didn't realize that it was her father's intestines.

When her father didn't move, the girl quivered, sobbing as she curled into the fetal position next to his head.

The night stretched on.

The girl spent the night sleeping in a pool of her father's blood. She was not found until the housekeeper came in the next morning.

At that point, the damage had already been done.

* * *

Tia woke up with a sharp breath. She lay, heart pounding, in her bed, staring up at her ceiling for several moments, too afraid to look and see where she was until she heard soft breathing next to her. Biting the inside of her cheek, she steeled herself for a pool of red and her father's lifeless form, only to turn her head and find the sleeping form of her...boyfriend.

Tia let out a breath she didn't realize she had been holding at the sight of Wesley, totally relaxed and sleeping soundly. He looked cuter without his glasses, she thought. Less...pompous. Hah. She didn't dare say that to his face, though, even if he was asleep. Knowing him, he'd hear her even in his unconscious state and punish her for it later. He could be quite intimidating when he wanted to be.

Tia turned her head back to stare up at the familiar ceiling of her bedroom in her small, rented house. She thought back to the day her father had been killed. It was also the day her mother was killed, although she hadn't found that out until the next day. Disemboweled in the rose garden, they'd said. A gruesome scene, her intestines draped over the bushes like some sort of horrific garland.

And then she'd been taken in by her uncle.

The very reason they'd even been murdered-and herself tainted-in the first place. All because of him and his damn shady underworld dealings.

Thus why she had cut ties with him as soon as she'd turned eighteen, moving to the other side of the globe just to escape his reach.

Unfortunately, she actually liked her cousins, and couldn't find it in herself to blame them for the sins of their father, so she kept in touch with them as much as possible.

Why was she thinking of all this again?

Oh. Right. Because Anatoly and Vladimir Ranskahov's father, Nikolai, had been found murdered earlier that week, and now all of a sudden she couldn't get a hold of either of her cousins.

She was worried. What if they were dead? _Or worse._ She shuddered at the thought. Those in the criminal underworld had a way of making their enemies suffer a fate much worse than death.

She should know.

The man beside her stirred. Drawn to the movement, she turned her head and moved to run a hand through his hair affectionately. She had tried to keep Wesley at arm's length for as long as possible, but unfortunately for her, the man had a way of wearing down her walls like no one else. After a month and a half of trying to keep her distance from him, she had grown tired of her ceaseless skepticism and had decided that for once in her life, she would throw caution to the wind and do something reckless. She was feeling lonely, and without even her cousins to talk to, she just needed to feel like someone cared.

Thus, she had invited him to her place. Voila, Exhibit A: one James Wesley, naked in her bed lying next to her-also equally void of clothing.

She didn't regret a damn thing.

Glancing at the clock, Tia gave a quiet sigh. Due to her blackout curtains, she couldn't really tell from the lack of light, but the digital clock on her nightstand glared back at her in angry red numbers _8:47_. Running her hand through Wesley's hair once more, she placed a tender kiss to the tip of his nose.

"Wes," she said, shaking his shoulder gently and firmly stomping down the creeping sense of déjà vu she got as she did. "Wes, wake up. We need to get dressed or we'll be late for breakfast with your friend."

There was a prolonged moment of silence, in which Tia felt a small sense of panic beginning to swell to the surface of her mind. Then, Wes groaned.

"Hmmm. Okay," he muttered, reluctantly opening his eyes. His eyebrow quirked at the relief on Tia's face. "Something wrong?"

Tia pursed her lips, looking away.

"No," she said. "Everything's fine."

She was trying to convince herself, more than anything.

* * *

Breakfast with Wesley's friend was a bit...tense, to begin with, Tia thought. This Wilson Fisk, she thought, despite dressing very nicely, had a rather unassuming appearance. Yet the aura he exuded was one of oppressive force. It reminded her of the aura a ruler should exude.

She didn't like it. It felt _wrong_.

Nevertheless, she did not falter in her manners as she and Wesley dined with the man, exchanging pleasantries. The man surprised her when he began speaking to her easily in Russian. It set her a little more on edge, but she had already decided to trust Wesley, and by extension that meant she needed to at least try and trust his friend. After all, Tatiana Durov was not the sort of person to do things half-heartedly once she had made up her mind.

"Wesley tells me you came to America from Russia when you were just eighteen," Fisk said in her native tongue. "What made you decide to come all the way here at such a young age? To Hell's Kitchen, of all places?"

Tia pursed her lips, calculating her response so as not to give too much information away while still being as open as possible.

"My uncle took me in after my parents' death when I was a young child. He had...interest in me going into the family business. I, however, wanted to be independent. I thought to myself, where better to find freedom than America, the land of the free?" She shrugged. "And as for why Hell's Kitchen...well...the rent was cheap," she said with an amused smile.

Fisk chuckled briefly before sobering once again. "Surely, though, your cousins must worry about you, living on the other side of the world, all alone in a bad neighborhood?"

Tia resisted the urge to give a rather unladylike snort, taking a sip of her mimosa instead.

"My cousins know I can take care of myself."

Fisk eyed Wesley in amusement.

"From the sounds of it, rather than Wesley protecting you, it may well be the other way around."

Tia grinned, finding herself beginning to relax from the combination of the casual conversation and the alcohol in her drink. She shook her head.

"Somehow, I doubt Wesley's pride would allow that," she chuckled, watching Wesley hide his smile behind his drink.

"You know me so well," Wesley murmured amusedly before taking a sip.

Something about the comment seemed to nag at her in the back of her mind, though.

Did she really know Wesley?

* * *

Wesley sat at a table at the usual restaurant that he and Fisk frequented these days. Fisk, on the other hand, stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling glass that spanned the entire one wall. Wesley concentrated on the numbers he was busy balancing, not bothering to glance over at Fisk as he sipped his dark-roast coffee. He needed to stay awake long enough to finish his work even though he hadn't slept well the night before, worrying over Tia's first meeting with Fisk. The woman was still rather paranoid by nature, even though he'd noted a remarkable difference in her over the past few days. She was finally beginning to trust him, and that made him worry more. He couldn't afford to screw it up now. He was in far too deep to let that happen without major consequences.

At least two of those consequences were currently out of the picture. For the time being, anyway.

"I find myself hoping," Fisk said, breaking his silence, although he didn't look back at Wesley as he spoke, "that our plan comes to fruition." Fisk clasped his hands behind his back as he observed the city below them. "It seems like it would be quite a waste to let Miss Durov go. She's rather...witty."

Wesley felt the corner of his mouth quirk up at Fisk's comment. She was more than just that, he thought, but he didn't comment on that.

"Given her cousins are anything like her, I believe they'll find their way out relatively unscathed," Wesley murmured, still scribbling numbers down as he spoke, his mind separating the two tasks effortlessly. "After all, she is both tenacious...and resourceful." He set down his pen to take another sip of his coffee, leaning back in his chair to take a small break. He glanced over at Fisk's watchful figure, looming over the city he cared for as a mournful father would, grieving its disobedience. His brow furrowed. He couldn't help but worry for his friend.

His friend had big dreams. And despite his complete faith and loyalty to their cause, he couldn't help but think of the difficulties that lay ahead of them.

Hopefully, Tia would soon be a key in their success.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** -slithers in- Oh heyyy, long time no see, my pretties. -dodges flying objects- GAH! Sorry I was gone so long. First it was writer's block, then I did NaNoWriMo this month (and won, with half the month to spare. Yowza!), but now I'm back to the realm of fanfiction once more, so...yay?

-squeaks- Don't hurt me! Here, have an update! -throws chapter at you and runs away-

* * *

Tia sighed as she closed the front door behind her, shoving her shoes and coat in the closet just inside before heading down the hall to her kitchen. Today's classes had been harder than usual due to the professor that taught two of her classes being out sick, and the replacement professor had such a thick Indian accent that she found it hard to follow along with what he was lecturing on, especially since he seemed to be a little trigger-happy when it came to changing slides. She felt like she only got maybe half of what the professor had said put down in her notes. She almost felt it would have been better if she'd just stayed home and done self-study of the chapters they'd covered. She opened one of the ktichen cupboards and reached in to grab a mug when she happened to glance down at her metal toaster. She immediately turned, throwing her mug with deadly accuracy.

"Hey!"

The two figures behind her ducked as the mug sailed towards the wall, shattering on impact. They both straightened, patting themselves off self-consciously.

"Took you long enough to notice," the one on the right grumbled.

"You..." Tia growled, glaring at the two familiar men. "You DICKS!" She raged, her Russian accent tinting her words in her anger as she hurled herself at them, grabbing them both in a tight hug. "I thought you two had died, that's how long I hadn't heard from you! And you have the nerve to break into my house rather than sending me an e-mail letting me know you were alive!?"

Though she berated them so harshly, she was just covering up for how relieved she was to see them alive and...mostly well. She noticed a number of healing bruises on the both of them, despite their long-sleeved shirts and pants. She also didn't miss the way they winced slightly at her tight embrace. Tia frowned, backing off a little and dragging them both over to the kitchen table, forcing them to sit down as she busied herself making a pot of coffee.

"So, tell me what rock you both have been hiding under these past couple months that you forgot all about your dear cousin," she said, slipping into her mother tongue. Speaking the Russian words felt like meeting a familiar old friend that she hadn't seen in a while. Even though she'd learned that both Fisk and Wesley spoke it to a certain degree, it brought a small smile to her lips to be able to speak it with her cousins once again.

It didn't escape her notice when the two brothers shared a silent look between themselves before Anatoly reached across the table to squeeze her hands as she set down coffee mugs in front of them. She looked at him, a bit surprised. Her cousins had always prided themselves on being gruff and tough, rarely showing their affection for her or each other even though they were all aware that it was there. It caused her brow to crease in worry for what they had gotten themselves into that they would act like this towards her.

"Anatoly?" she asked quietly, squeezing his hands back lightly. The one word seemed to snap him out of a daze, and he inhaled, taking back his hands and folding them over his stomach as he leaned back in his chair. Tia flashed a worried look over to Vladimir, only to find him glaring at the empty mug in front of him as he drummed his fingers quietly on the table.

"You remember the night your parents were killed?" Vladimir asked, his tone quiet and deadly.

Tia's hands trembled ever so slightly as she relived the memories of that night in her head, and she quickly hid it by busying herself with the coffee pot once more, bringing it over to the table and pouring some for everyone. Keeping herself busy tended to help at times like this.

"Of course I remember that," she bit out, her tone harsher than she had intended, causing Vladimir to look up at her at last. He gave her a blank look, his expression unreadable. She took a deep, steadying breath, setting the coffee pot down and seating herself across from Anatoly. "Sorry," she murmured, not meeting his gaze.

Vladimir gave a one-sided shrug.

"Someone killed our father, in much the same manner," he said, his voice sounding hoarse. It was the only sign he gave of being in distress. His expression was more murderous than anguished, but his voice betrayed him to Anatoly and Tia, who knew him almost better than they knew themselves. Anatoly stared resolutely into the depths of his black coffee, but Tia hesitantly reached out to grab his hand, stilling his drumming fingers. He clutched her fingers tightly enough that it hurt, but she gave no sign of it. "It was a coup. They tried to get us to bow to them, the dogs, but we refused." His free hand traced some of the visible bruises along his collarbone and jaw. "So they threw us in a rat-infested pit with a dead man. For months, we were just barely kept alive. The only reason we escaped was because we broke the dead man's ribs and used them like knives to kill the guards." His haunted eyes found Tia's once more. "So yes, apologies for not e-mailing you. Apparently there is no internet connection in hell."

Tia snorted. It was just like Vladimir to go through the asshole of the earth and come out on the other side making wise-cracks. Realizing he was fine-or would be, at least-she took her hand back, adding cream and sugar to her coffee. Anatoly rolled his eyes at her as both brothers drank theirs black.

"So, what business do you have in Hell's Kitchen?" she asked mildly. "Trading one hell for another, are we?"

It was Anatoly's turn to snort at that. "Well, somehow I feel being in Hell's Kitchen will be slightly more tolerable than being in hell's shitter."

Vladimir took an appreciative sip of his coffee, the corners of his eyes crinkling at the heat wafting off of it.

"As much as I would like to say we just wanted to stop by for a visit," he said sarcastically-sarcasm and cynicism really did run in the family, after all, "we are here on business, actually. Ever since the coup, we realized we would have to start building our empire back up again, from the ground up." He ran a hand over his face, suddenly looking exhausted. "We were able to contact a number of those loyal to us, and they should be arriving over the next few weeks, but we will need more if we intend on running Hell's Kitchen as we did Moscow."

Tia was silent for a long moment, staring into her drink. When the silence was broken, it was Anatoly that spoke.

"You still don't want to join us, do you," he said quietly. It was not a question.

Tia shook her head, biting her bottom lip. As much as she loved her cousins and worried about their safety in the shady business they were in, she wanted no part of it. She remembered what had happened last time she had been part of that world, and now that she was with Wesley...she couldn't do that to him. She couldn't drag him into the darkness she had tried so hard to leave behind.

Have you ever heard the saying, 'Speak of the devil, and he shall appear?'

Tia was reminded of that saying as she heard the door open and close, and Wesley taking off his coat and shoes in the front porch. She panicked a bit as Vladimir and Anatoly both leapt to their feet, hands reaching for their guns. She hissed under her breath for them to stand down, motioning for them to sit back down as she stood up, grabbing both of their half-finished cups of coffee and dumping them in the sink despite their accusing looks.

Wesley strode into the room looking impeccable as always in his dark gray suit and black tie. He stopped, noticing the two strangers seated at the kitchen table. He uttered a 'hello', earning a swift, disgruntled nod from both of them, before turning to look at Tia, a silent question apparent in his eyes. She gave him a wan half-smile.

"Wes, these are my cousins, Anatoly and Vladimir," she said, pointing to each of them in return. "Sorry I didn't tell you they were coming today. They just sort of dropped in without any notice. They were just about to leave." She sent a meaningful glare at the two men when Wesley wasn't looking. They remained sitting for a moment before they stood, throwing back an uncaring 'nice to meet you' before they went to leave. Tia glared at them as she realized they hadn't even bothered to take their boots off before coming into the house. And just who was going to have to clean that? Oh, that's right; _her_.

Tia glanced over at Wesley, only to see him staring in the direction that Anatoly and Vladimir had left in, a calculating look on his face. There was a small nagging sensation, somewhere in the pit of her stomach, that said that sort of look was never a good sign. She quickly shoved it down, though.

She had made the choice to trust Wesley. And god damn it, she was going to do just that.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Bit of a shorter chapter here! We've got three more chapter to go after this. Mostly a reflective/filler chapter here, then things will pick up after this.

Thanks to all who've favorited, followed, and reviewed so far!

* * *

**Devil's Advocate**

_chapter seven_

* * *

It had been seven months since Wesley and Tatiana had started dating; two months since her gangster cousins had escaped the hell-hole they'd been stuck in back in Russia, and had slowly started bringing over what loyal men remained from their old gang to inhabit the shadows of Hell's Kitchen. It hadn't taken long for Wesley and Fisk to hone in on them, and it took even less time to convince them to join forces with them when they realized who exactly Wesley was-or rather, who he was romantically involved with.

Wesley had felt...unexpectedly repentant about using Tia like that. Funny; he hadn't realized he could still care enough about someone other than Fisk that he would care about using them towards their goals. It still didn't bother him enough not to do it, though. After all, the end more than justified the means, he figured. Besides, what Tia didn't know couldn't hurt her. He wondered, though, if she knew what he had done...would she be understanding of it? He pondered the question as he lay beside her in bed, her back to him as he tangled a hand in her soft blond curls, inhaling the sweet, subtle scent of vanilla. Would she understand their ideals? Would she accept that what they did, they only did for the betterment of their city? Their neighborhood? Their childhood home? Perhaps. He wouldn't test it, though.

He felt Tia shift beneath his fingers, and he withdrew his hand as she rolled onto her back with a tired sigh, turning her head to him. Despite the dark of the room, he could see the tired circles under her eyes. Had she been sleeping these past few days? He'd been away more than he'd been there, so maybe she hadn't. He didn't know. He felt bad that he didn't know. He and Fisk had a lot of work to do, though, building relations with not only the Russians, but the Japanese, as well. It couldn't be helped.

"Sorry," Wesley murmured softly. "Did I wake you?"

Tia worried her bottom lip for a moment as the silence stretched between them. Wesley's brow furrowed in concern at her silence when she met his eyes, and he could see the conflict hidden there.

"Wes," she said, hesitating as she placed her hand on his chest. He placed his hand over hers, relishing in the warmth it filled him with. "I heard from my cousins that you and Fisk are going into business with them." When Wesley opened his mouth to spout excuses to cover their tracks, she placed a finger to his lips and shook her head. "No. Don't...don't tell me what you think I want to hear. I don't want to hear it." She inhaled deeply through her nose and said, "Just tell me this...were you using me to get close to my cousins?"

"No," Wesley said, with such vehemence that he surprised himself. Especially given that it wasn't actually the truth. He realized, though, as he thought about it, that whatever intentions he had started their relationship with, they had since fallen by the wayside.

Tia searched his face for a moment, seeming mollified by whatever she found there as she gave him a small smile and stroked his cheek before huddling closer to him. He folded her carefully in his arms as he placed his chin on top of her head. His heart gave a painful squeeze at the action.

He realized, at that moment, that he was in love with Tatiana Durov.

Wesley closed his eyes reluctantly, realizing the implications of this new revelation. He would never be able to drag Tia into his world; the world that he and Fisk were making for themselves. His heart would never let him. Her cousins were one thing, because they had always been embroiled in the criminal underworld since childhood. Tia had striven to escape that world when she left Russia for a new life in America. He just couldn't, in good conscience, drag her back into the darkness he had willingly steeped himself in all those years ago. But neither would he give up on his and Fisk's goal of reshaping this city for the good of all its inhabitants-including Tia. In fact, he felt more determined than ever to see their plans through. The only thing was that he would have to shelter Tia from any of the repercussions that might follow. But how could he do that? He was a selfish man. He couldn't possibly give her up now, not now that he knew that he loved her. His heart wouldn't let him.

Wesley made a vow to himself, then. He vowed to himself that he would never marry Tia. Instead, he would hide her away. No one would know of their involvement that didn't already. If he kept her a secret, erasing all public records of her existence, then no one would be able to find her and use her against him. They could still be together, and he could still change the city; could still make it better for the both of them. And maybe, one day, when their goals had been achieved, they could be together for real, with no fear of what others might do to them.

Wesley sighed. She could never know all this, of course. It was a selfish decision he had gone and made on his own without her input. She would have never agreed to it if he asked her, after all. She would undoubtedly tell him that she would have no part of being one of his secrets. The thought brought a small smile to his face, and he pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of her head. She murmured something unintelligible, and he chuckled.

No. She would never know.

Tatiana Durov was a stubborn woman, and Wesley was a selfish man. Together, they were both wonderful and terrible.

And Wesley wouldn't have it any other way.


End file.
